Papa Loves Me
by solangewrites
Summary: Dark fic containing every sort of evil. Experiment Eleven has spent her whole life confined in the lab. She has never dreamed of anything else. Papa wouldn't allow it. But one day, someone new comes. A boy. Eleven must question everything she thought she knew, including the primary tenet of her life- Papa.
1. April 13th, 1976

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEMI GRAPHIC ABUSE, RAPE, ABORTION, MURDER PLOTS, INCEST, MIND-FUCKING AND OTHER FORMS OF PAIN**

 **What did you expect? That Dr. Brenner is a grade A asshole. I am very proud of this story though. I have spent a while working on it. I have written most of it, but will be finishing up as I post. I'll post once a week to start, but will work up from there.**

 **Apologies to anyone who has thought I simply dropped off the face of the earth due to inactivity. I had a couple of family vacations, finals, my birthday, auditions for multiple shows, and the commencement of three summer classes.**

 **The length of these "chapters" will vary wildly, just heads up. They are written more as diary entries/peeks into Elle's mind than traditional chapters. Everything is first person! And probably filled with errors as I am too self-conscious of my own work to look for a beta. Also, the number under each date is her age. She was born sometime in November 1971.**

 **So, without further ado…. Enjoy?**

 **April 13** **th** **, 1976**

5

Papa brought me flowers! I like the pretty flowers. I knowed how to smush up a can so he be happy. That make me happy, because I knowed he won't have to punish me for being naughty if he be happy. I got a new gown too! This one has itty bitty dotties on it. My old was no dotties, so this is exciting! Papa use that word when I do a new thing. Then he kiss me. But he always do that anyway.


	2. August 8th, 1979

**August 8** **th** **, 1979**

8

Papa keep making me do things. I get headaches. I tell him I hurt, but he tell me it is for the country. I don't know who that is, but apparently she be very important and we must help her. He gets angry when I fail at something.

He is angry now, and it makes me feel frozen. It is my fault. The science men say my hair too long. It mess up the metal net they put on my head. I thought my hair was getting pretty now it be to my shoulders. And it keeps my neck warm.

Papa has left, so I curl up on my chair, hugging my knees to my chest. Then he comes back. With a nurse. The nurse have a black block in his hand. It has poky bits on one side, and a cord on the other. He stick the cord into the wall and pushes something on the block. It starts to buzz and I tremble. I not like that sound.

"Stay still Eleven." Papa tells me. I do, until the man brings the block over to my head.

"Papa?" I whine, edging away from it.

"Don't worry Eleven. He won't hurt you. Don't be naughty." Papa holds my hand and I sit rigidly as the nurse brings the block to my head. I whimper as he runs it over my skull and the first lock of hair falls off of my head.


	3. December 25th, 1981

**December 25** **th** **, 1981.**

10 

I am cold. The edge of the bed, a sharp metal presses into my thighs. I shiver. Food is late. I have been waiting longer than normal. Today has not been normal. Papa did not come. There were no men in coats to make me do things. It has just been me.

I shift where I sit. Did I something wrong? Is that why there is no food? My lip trembles slightly and I swallow. I have tried so hard to be good. To make Papa happy. I have done everything the men in coats have asked, I have eaten all the food, even when it is cold and does not taste good, I have held still when they gave me shots.

The door creaks open and Papa enters. My throat clenches slightly. Maybe it is a special day! A while ago, when all the men seemed taller, and I filled up less of the bed, there was a special day. Papa gave me a white and red stick that tasted sweet and spicy to my mouth. None of the men were there that day. Papa smiled and patted my head. I liked that day.

"Hello Eleven." Papa smiles at me and my spirits lift.

"Papa."

"I've got a present for you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small book covered in bright shapes. I've seen things like that before. I know shapes, colors, and numbers very well.

He hands the book to me and I look it over.

"It's a coloring book. There are shapes on the inside that you fill in with whatever color you wish." He hands me three small sticks in red, yellow, and blue. I open the book. It's full of pictures, of shapes. It is beautiful.

"Thank you Papa." I set the book down beside me. He probably wants me to do something now.

"Don't you want to color, Eleven?" He sits on the bed besides me and I stiffen slightly. He places the book on my lap, his hand lingering for a minute, before he pats my thigh gently.

I open the book and start filling in a triangle with red, aware of his hand on me. Slowly, though, I relax. He's just being nice.

After a little while, Papa stands up and I set the book down.

"Kiss Papa goodbye." He commands, and I obey. His skin is hot and wrinkled as always but I am firm in placing my lips against his. Papa has been kind today, and so will I.

"Goodbye Papa." I say, sitting back down on my bed.

"Goodnight Eleven."


	4. October 17th, 1983

**October 17** **th** **, 1983.**

12

There is a new man today. I notice him reading a chart when I am taken to be measured and weighed. Papa makes sure this happens every month. He wants me to stay healthy, so I can help with my powers.

The new man doesn't look very old. He looks more like me than the other men.

"Is this the prodigy?" I hear Papa ask one of the men as I stand on a scale.

"Yes sir. Got here from university just yesterday." The man responds.

"He's fifteen, correct?" Papa has his thinking face on.

"Yes sir. Youngest employee we've ever had."

"He's got what we're looking for." Papa replies before turning to look at me. I tense up and look at the ground. Papa doesn't like when I eavesdrop on his conversations. I step off the scale and go through all that I am asked to do.

Papa looks over the new man- no, boy- for a minute.

"Bring him over here." He tells the doctor.

"Michael. Come here. Boss wants to meet you." The doctor instructs the boy, who finally looks up.

"Yes sir." He walks over, a nervous smile on his face. He is tall, thin. He has thick black hair surrounding his face. His eyes are a deep, deep brown. Scattered on his cheeks are brown circles. I have not seen anything like them before. All the other men are one color throughout.

He does not see me.

"I'm Dr. Brenner." Papa shakes hands with Michael as the nurse tells me to remove my clothes. I take my gown and my plain white underwear off without any hesitation, trembling slightly in the cool room.

"Believe me, I know. Sir." Michael says awkwardly. Papa smiles tightly. "I'm Michael Wheeler. Everyone calls me Mike though."

"Well, Mike, let's hope that your work here is more representative of your IQ than your social skills. That was why we hired you, after all."

"Of course, sir." Michael agrees. "I'll just get back to work then." Papa nods, eyes already fixed on some new piece of data he's being presented with. Mike steps away from Papa and finally sees me. His cheeks turn red as he sees my body from across the room. Then his eyes meet mine.

I feel trapped as the doctor examines my body. His eyes are wide and confused and his mouth opens for a split second before snapping shut. He turns around and walks to where he was working previously. Why did he look at me like that? It was different than the others. His gaze had felt strange on my skin, making me feel like I was doing something wrong.

I consider this as I slip back into my clothing.


	5. February 3rd, 1984

**February 3** **rd** **, 1984.**

13

I went in the bath today. I had overheard Papa talking to the scientists about senses and salt and such things before, but I didn't understand until today. I wish I had never had to find out.

Papa kissed me, stroking my head gently before taking me into the room with the other men. Mike was there. He looked less surprised this time, just confused. I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

The bad darkness hurt my head. I just want to sleep now. Sleep is a good kind of darkness. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't have bad men or scary noises. It is just warm, wanting you to come and rest in it. I am glad to comply.


	6. May 14th, 1984

**May 14** **th** **, 1984.**

13

My chest is hurting. I think it is because it is growing. I don't know why. I just know that where it used to be flat, there are now uncomfortable lumps. I tell Papa of the pain.

"Your chest hurts?" He asks, hand hovering over the offending area. I nod and he places his large hand on me. It feels worse.

"Hurts, Papa." He squeezes for a second and I let out a squeak.

"Shhh. Be quiet Eleven." I obey and he lifts his hand off me.

"I'm sorry Papa." I whisper. His voice had sounded angry. I don't want to make Papa angry.

"Kiss me." He says. I do. He holds me in position for longer than normal. His tongue attacks my lips, feeling slimy and large. I whimper. I don't like it.


	7. May 18th, 1984

**May 18** **th** **, 1984.**

13

Papa leads me to the test room. I sit at the table as he places a picture in front of me.

"You see this man, Eleven?" Papa inquires. I nod numbly. "I want you to find him. Can you do that for me?"

"Hurt him?" I ask. Papa made me kill a mouse last week. I cried for hours afterwards and then I had to go in the Bad Place.

"No, I don't want you to hurt him. I just want you to find him and listen to him. Repeat what he says back to me."

That doesn't sound too bad. I close my eyes and walk through the laboratory in my mind. I seek out the man's face. He is sitting in a small room, like the one in which Papa and I sit. I listen as hard as I can, eyes clenched shut. I hear his voice in an echo and I know I have succeeded.

I open my eyes. Papa smiles.

"Good."


	8. June 21st, 1984

**June 21** **st,** **1984.**

13

I wake up and feel strange. There is a pain in my stomach unlike any I have ever felt. I stand up and walk to my table where my special things-my coloring book, crayons, and lion- and cup of water rest. I take a small sip of the liquid, then turn back to make my bed. I freeze when I see it, though.

Blood covers my one blanket. I start breathing quickly. Where did all that come from? I look at myself and see blood on my legs. I scream.

Papa runs into the room and stops, looking at me.

"Calm down Eleven."

"Papa, papa. It hurts." I sob, hunching over myself. I must be dying. So much blood, so much blood.

"Eleven." His voice is sharp but I can't stop crying. His hand smacks across my face and I reel back. Papa doesn't hit me very much. I shouldn't have cried so much. Papa knows best.

"It will be fine Eleven. Come." He takes my hand and leads me from my room. My cheek aches, but I appreciate the pain. It gives me something to focus on, besides my blood on my legs.

Papa takes me to the doctor's room, where I sit on the chair I always do, focusing on regulating my breathing.

"Dr. Brenner?" Mike pokes his head into the room and I flinch slightly.

"Yes. Michael. I need you take care of Eleven here. I believe she started her menstrual cycle this morning. Sort this out. I'll be back in half an hour." Papa walked towards the door.

"Um, sir, don't you think-" Mike starts to say.

"You have an interest in medicine, do you not?" Papa fixes the boy with a look. Mike nods. "Then fix her up." And Papa leaves.

"Okay." Mike wipes his hands on his white coat and finally looks at me. "Eleven is your name?"

"Yes." I nod. None of the other men have ever asked my name.

"Alright. So, Eleven, why don't you stand up, and, um, undress. I'll go get a washcloth." I do as he says. He comes back with several different sized pieces of white fabric in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other.

"Why you pink?" I ask, surprising myself as much as I do him. It is a valid question, though. He has a stranger color in his face.

He pauses in rubbing the dried blood off of my legs.

"Why am I blushing?" He is pinker than before. I nod.

"It's an involuntary reaction. Because you're um, naked."

"Naked?"

"You don't have clothes on, so, uh, your body is visible. Entirely." He reaches the juncture of my legs with his washcloth and pauses.

"This might… tickle." Despite his warning, I still startle slightly when the now cool cloth touches me sensitive skin. His face is redder than before.

Mike finishes cleaning the blood up with a sigh and hands me a pair of underwear with a chunky white rectangle stuck to it.

"This is a pad. It will absorb the blood." I don't know how this small piece of fabric can take care of all what was coming out of me, but I pull the underwear back on nonetheless.

"Why I am bleeding?" I whisper.

"It's your menstrual cycle. It's, um, it's basically your uterus changing out its lining so that if you were to become pregnant and a baby started to grow inside you…" I don't understand any of the words he's using, and I'm sure it shows on my face, as he stops talking.

"It's just a thing that happens to girls." He tells me as he slides my gown over my head.

"Girls?"

"Jesus, you really don't know anything." He sounds upset and I swallow hard.

"Sorry." I duck my head. I am stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

"No, no. It's just… hard to explain some things. So, um there are two types of people, men and women. Girls are like, young women, and boys are young men. So, I'm a boy, you're a girl, Agent Frazier is a woman, and Dr. Brenner is a man. Make sense?"

"Okay." I say, looking back up at Michael. His eyes are so warm.

"Alright, Dr. Brenner is probably waiting."

"Thank you." I whisper. That is something I know. You always thank someone when they do something for you, like when Papa gives me extra bread, or one of the men helps me with my suit.

"You're very welcome El."

El. I like the sound of that.


	9. July 31st, 1984

**July 31** **st** **, 1984.**

13

I am getting better. I always do good in the bath, telling Papa the words. I sit at the table in the white room, tapping my fingers on the surface. I can tap them in the same way over and over again and it sounds nice. Soothing.

"Eleven." Papa enters the room and I stop. He might think it's annoying.

"Eleven, I have a special job for you today."

"Yes, Papa?" I sit up straight.

"There is a man here. A very important man. You have to show him how good you are. How obedient. Can you do that for me?"

Papa wants me to help him. I can do that.

"Yes." I tell him. Papa smiles, but the worried look stays around his mouth and eyes. That is not good. This must be a very important man.

"He's here." A voice speaks through the black box hung in the corner of the room. Papa adjusts his jacket before replying.

"Send him in." The door opens and a large old man with hair the color of Papa's-though he has much less of it- and glasses walks in.

"Brenner." The man's voice has a nasty edge to it, like someone served him a sour lemon. I had a lemon once. It was good, but a bit too sour at first. Maybe this man had his first lemon just now.

"Mr. Cull. It's an honor to have you here." Papa smiles at the man, but the lines are still there around his mouth.

"Sit down Brenner. I want results, not flattery." Cull heaves himself into the chair opposite me and squints into my eyes. I try to look back into his eyes, but his face is distracting. There's so _much_ of it.

"Of course." Papa sits next to Mr. Cull.

"This is Experiment Eleven?"

"Yes."

"You say she's gonna be some super soldier or shit?" The man pulls out a large brown tube- a cigar, I think it's called- and bites down onto it.

"We believe that she could be of use to the country, yes." Papa shifts somewhat in his chair and I squeeze my hands together under the table.

"She don't look like much." I frown a little at that comment. I am very good. I can do lots. I'm special.

"Eleven." Papa's voice is sharp and I look at him immediately. "Show this nice man what you can do."

A scientist enters and places a soda can on the table. I begin to feel more confident. This is easy. I concentrate on the can and crush it without any trouble.

The man's mouth opens slightly before shutting once more. "Hm. A crushed can ain't gonna help us against the Commies." He leans back in his chair.

The scientist sets a small hamster on the table. Oh no. They want me to kill it.

"Papa." I whisper, pleading with my eyes at him. I can do other things. Help Papa hear what the men say, float things, turn off the lights. But I don't want to kill this creature. It's small and fluffy and squeaks in its confinement, darting around the edges of its cage.

"Kill it." Papa commands coolly. Looking into his steely blue eyes I know he won't change his mind. I focus on the squirming hamster. My eyes tighten and I feel the familiar throbbing start in my head. I concentrate on darkness, death, ending. The animal squeaks and I let out a whimper before it collapses.

I feel that familiar warmth trickling down my nose and feel faint as I wipe at my bloody nose.

"But how do we know she'll be obedient?" Mr. Cull persists. I rest my head on the back of the chair, closing my eyes. I'm tired. So, so tired.

"Trust me, she'll do anything I tell her to." Papa reassures him.

"Anything?" There is something hidden under his words, a subtext that makes me prickle all over.

"Anything." Papa confirms. "Eleven, do you remember what I taught you last week? I want you to do that for Mr. Cull now. Make him feel good."

"Papa-" I pull my head up and look at him, resolutely avoiding the greedy eyes of Mr. Cull.

"Do it Eleven." Papa gestures to me and I reluctantly pull my gown off as I approach Mr. Cull.

"This seems like a very fruitful project, indeed." He chuckles as I kneel in front of him.

Their laughter stings in my ears.


	10. August 5th, 1984

**August 5** **th** **, 1984.**

13

"Hello Eleven." A soft voice greets my ears and my mattress dips ever so slightly. I scramble to the corner of the cot and turn to stare at whoever has woken me.

"Mike." I whisper. What is he doing here? I clutch my knees to my chest.

"Hi El. I'm going to be your tutor." He smiles at me.

I look at him. I don't know that word.

"I'm going to teach you things. Like, words, and numbers and stuff. To help you with your missions." I nod. He is here to help me learn. But not what Papa teaches me. I know it can't be the same. Mike is all soft where Papa is hard. I haven't know this warm boy for long, but I can tell that much about him.

"Would you come sit next to me?" He asks me. I eye him warily. Can I really trust him?

"Okay." I release my legs and scoot over next to him. I can feel heat emanating from his body and I shudder slightly. I am always so cold that his warmth makes me feel very odd.

"Do you know letters?" He points to a bunch of shapes on a piece of paper. I untense slightly. I see these all the time.

"Papa use them." I tell him.

"That's right. Well, these are letters and if you put them together they form words. You can write them, like this," He takes out a clicky pen and copies one of the shapes onto the paper, "and they represent sounds, which are what we use when we talk."

"Okay." I say. That makes sense.

"So the letters are organized in this system called the alphabet…" Mike begins to explain all about words, vowels and consonants to me. I soak up the knowledge. It's exciting. And he doesn't talk to me like I don't understand. He speaks like I'm someone important, someone special.

I like him.


	11. September 13th, 1984

**September 13** **th** **, 1984.**

13

My lessons with Mike are very helpful. After just a month- he explains those to me as well- I know all the letters, the numbers up to 100, the colors, the shapes, and lots of simple words. Today, as a thank you to Mike, I'm going to make him a drawing with my crayons and a page from my coloring book.

I sit at my small table. Which page should I use? I settle on one with a big rectangle in the middle. Mike looks like a skinny rectangle, all long and stretched out. I giggle a little as I think of Mike having a rectangle instead of a normal torso.

I start to color the rectangle in with yellow. Yellow is a nice color. Happy and sunshine are both yellow words in my mind.

"Eleven." The door opens and I freeze in my coloring. Papa. I stand up quickly and close my book.

"Yes."

"How are you today, Eleven?" He leans in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips.

"Papa?" I am confused. Papa has never asked that question before.

"How do you feel?" He asks again.

"Fine." I respond. It is the first thing that pops into my head.

"Good, good." He crosses the room and sits on my cot. He pats his lap. "Sit, Eleven."

"Yes Papa." I acquiesce and he settles his hands tightly around my waist. It's uncomfortable, but I don't say anything. I don't want to upset him.

"You've been having lessons with Michael Wheeler, yes? To learn?"

"Yes Papa."

"Well we need to teach your body too. To become flexible and strong."

I nod in understanding. My mind is strong, and my body needs to be the same way.

"Your teacher's name is Troy. He's going to be showing you how to fight." Papa strokes my chest lightly and I try not to wiggle too much.

"Okay."


	12. September 26th, 1984

**September 26** **th** **1984.**

13

Troy throws a punch at my face and I just barely dodge it. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Papa gave me a new outfit for training. A plain white tank top, matching shorts, and a pair of white socks and sneakers. They are much better to move in than my bare feet.

"Come on, you can do better!" Troy screams into my face. I'm distracted and he lands a hit to my stomach. I crumple over for a second. I can't stop though. He'll hit me more, and then Papa will be sad and will send me to the bad room.

I kick upwards into his crotch and he lets out a grunt before attempting to grab my ankle. I stumble upright, but he still manages to grab me. He yanks me close to him so I can smell the stink of his body and feel the sweat on his skin.

I still. What is he going to do? Should I keep fighting? I glance towards Papa, but he simply stares at me.

"What are you gonna do now, slut?" Troy breathes heavily at me. I'm torn. What is the right thing to do? What does Papa want me to do?

I act on instinct, leaning in and planting my lips on his. They taste as bad as I thought they would, and I pull back with relief.

"You _are_ a slut." Troy lets go and stares at me, astonishment in his eyes. I take advantage of his shock to land a blow in his stomach and to his head before kicking him in the back of the knees.

He lands on the ground and I pant. That was hard.

"I hadn't thought of that angle." Agent Frazier remarks as she approaches me with Papa. Troy groans and starts to stand up.

"You're dismissed Harrington." Papa doesn't even look at him, eyes stuck on me.

"Yes, that would certainly work." Papa smiles slightly as he examines me.

"She is developing rather well, but I'd give her a few more months to train." Agent Frazier murmurs.

"Yes. Come, Eleven. You've done well today." Papa gestures to me.

"Thank you Papa." I step off the mat and stay next to him as we walk to yet another white room.

"When was the Yekaterinburg trip?" Papa asks Frazier.

"It was planned for January."

"Good. We'll just have to work extra hard these next few months. You can do that, can't you Eleven?"

"Yes Papa." I nod. I don't know what they're talking about, but Papa seems happy, so I won't question it.

"Should we get her some more normal clothes to start training in? So she becomes used to them?"

"Yes. Get her nice things. We want her to look proper at that party."


	13. September 31st, 1984

**September 31** **st** **, 1984**

13

"Hello Mike." I say shyly as he enters the training room.

"Hi El." He smiles at me as he sits in his chair, setting a large stack of papers on the table. I fidget nervously with the hem of my dress, a new one Papa gave me. It is simple, dark blue, knee-length with long sleeves and a fitted bodice, but it makes me feel good to wear it.

"Wait… are you wearing a new dress?"

"Yes. Like?"

"Uh… yeah. Looks nice. I, uh, thought you might be a little cold in the hospital gown."

"Yes." I nod, smiling a little. He thinks I look nice! That makes me feel nicer than how I look. My hair is still short and ugly, and dark bruises mottle my arms and legs, but that doesn't matter as much if I get to wear a dress that looks _nice_.

"Smile looks good too." His face is a little pink now. I've learned that

"Thank you." I grin at him, making my smile as wide as possible.

"Eleven." Papa stands in the doorway, a scowl etched on his face. I feel guilty. Maybe I'm not supposed to smile.

"Papa?" I say.

"Dr. Brenner!" Mike stands up quickly, adjusting his white coat.

"Sit down Wheeler." Papa looks at the two of us for a minute. "How clever are you?"

"I think I'm… pretty smart sir." Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I watch the encounter with curiosity.

"Clever enough to help her sneak into Russia, pose as the daughter of a diplomat there, infiltrate a party hosted by a top Communist official and assassinate him?"

"You mean… kill someone?"

"Precisely."

"Uh, yes sir."

"We need someone medical, and I don't want to send any of our more experienced men. Can I trust you to serve this country and this mission faithfully?"

"Yes sir."

"Papa?" I interject warily. They both look at me with surprise.

"Mike is smart."

"Is he now." Papa looks at me with a considering expression.

"Yes. He teach me."

"You're dismissed Wheeler." Papa waves his hand at Mike.

"Sir, I haven't had a chance to go over today's lesson with-"

"Get out." Papa's voice is sharp and Michael gathers up his things quickly before leaving. As soon as he is gone, Papa slaps me sharply. I squeak.

"You speak when spoken to."

"Sorry Papa." I whisper. I don't stand up. That will make him more upset if he hasn't told me to do it.

"Come here." He pats his lap and I sit, already feeling the telltale hardness underneath me.

"I don't want to hurt you Eleven. You know that. You must be a good girl. You don't want to be punished, do you?"

"No Papa."

"Aren't you glad that I gave you such a nice dress? Don't you want to thank me?"

It feels gross when Papa calls my dress nice. He doesn't say things the way Mike does.

"Yes Papa." I whisper, reaching around to undo the buttons on the back of my dress.

"Good girl."


	14. October 16th, 1984

**October 16** **th** **, 1984**

13

There are a lot of hard words in my books. Not always because they are long or com-pli-cated, but because I just don't know what they mean. I've come across one just know. It is about two small people, children, like me. But they are not co-workers. Or sib-lings, which means they have the same Mama and Papa. They are different.

"What is friend?" I ask Mike, placing my finger under the word.

"What?" He looks surprised and scoots towards me, making my palms start to sweat.

"Friend."

"Oh. A friend is… someone you trust with anything. They're there when you need them. You can give each other cool stuff, like comic books and trading cards. And friends don't lie."

"Do you have friends?" I press further. A friend sounds like a good thing to have. Do _I_ have friends?

"Yeah, of course. I have Will, Dustin, Lucas- they're my friends from high school- and everyone at college, and…. You're my friend, El." He stammers the last bit of his sentence.

"Oh. Thank you." I feel heat warm my cheeks as I smile. It is nice to be a friend.


	15. October 28th, 1984

**October 28** **th,** **1984.**

13

I am going 'outside' today. The doctor men told Papa that I should for my health. I don't really know what that means, but apparently it has something to do with how my skin is much lighter than everyone else's and how small I am.

My hair is getting longer though. That is a good thing. And I am getting better in my training. Instead of just Mike and Troy, I now have two other teachers, Chief Hopper and Ms. Max.

Hopper teaches me how to lie. Lying is when you say one thing, but you mean another. Papa called it acting, but Hopper told me that acting is just lying with you whole body, and not only your mouth.

We play a lot of poker.

Ms. Max teaches me 'people skills'. Apparently, my 'people skills' are rusty. She shows me how to make people laugh, how to move gracefully, how to dance, and even how to eat the right way. And she is funny. But she has hard edges under her grace and humor.

She knows how to make someone hurt. But she doesn't make herself proud of it. Its just a fact of her existence. She is warm to me. And I know I can trust her.

I know many words now. I can read the signs I see in the rooms, I can write my own stories about me and Papa, and I can read Mike's nametag. He is sitting on the chair in my room. I am on my cot. We are waiting for Papa to go outside. Mike is sort of my protector now. Papa likes him. Thinks he's real smart.

"Mike…Mike-hull. Wheel-er." I whisper as I make out the letters. "Joon-yur sci-ence-test." I look up to see if I did it right. A smile lights up his face and I feel a trembling in my stomach. That's another thing I've learned. When I do something right and Mike is proud of me, I get this funny feeling in my stomach. Like there are little mice running around inside me.

It doesn't just happen when he's proud of me. Sometimes it comes just when his hair looks very fluffy, or he wears that blue shirt I like, and quite often during my bleeding time, for no apparent reason. I have not had a bleeding for two months though, for which I am glad.

And I am getting fatter. The doctors say that is a good thing. I just notice that my chest lumps are round now, instead of just being pokey. It's an improvement. Well, except for the fact that Papa touches them more now. Touches me more. But that's okay. It's just my body. And anyway, he's my Papa. My Papa loves me. That's why he does everything. For me. And the country, whoever that is.

"Good job!" Mike congratulates me. "Your reading is getting great." I duck my head at the praise.

"Wheeler. Eleven. Come." Papa gestures to us. I slip on a pair of flat shoes to go with my loose gray jumpsuit and follow him. The protection men surround us. Papa says they're here for my safety, but I feel scared nonetheless. They are so big. Mike, Papa, and all the scientists are skinny, but these men are large and spread out. Like the yellow paste I smear on my bread for breakfast. They feel rough.

Papa walks briskly through white hallway after white hallway, the doors getting progressively thicker as I shuffle after him. The last door takes a code _and_ a swipe from a key card. Then Papa takes a strange square device and holds it behind my ear, where I feel a stranger buzzing.

"What's that, Papa?" I inquire gently. He doesn't reply and I don't press it. I want to see the outside.

One of the big men pulls the door open and I follow Papa out of it, Mike trailing behind us, scribbling something onto a notepad.

Then I am blinded. A sudden rush of cold greets my skin and I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut. I open them a few seconds later because I desperately wish to know where I am. It doesn't seem spectacular at first. I stand in a gray rectangle, white building on three sides, and several rows of barbed wire fencing on the other. There is some green far beyond the wire. That is interesting, but not amazing.

Then I look up. A blue sheet seems to have been thrown over the top of the world. White swirls flow through the sheet, looking soft and comfortable. In the corner, reigning supreme, is a massive yellow-white sphere. I glance at it for a moment, then cover my eyes when it hurts. It is beautiful.

"Eleven. Walk some laps." Troy barks from where he has appeared at Papa's side. I obey, eyes trained on the top-the sky, I remember Mike calling it- as I go. I want to spend forever in this cool blue swirl. Forever.


	16. October 31st, 1984

**A/N: this chapter is in no way reflective of the author's personal views on this topic, and the author freely admits that she is no medical expert, and is instead relying on Google, wikipedia, and the story being from the perspective of a very emotionally distressed and abused young girl. And apparently the author has decided to use the third person, like a pretentious asshole. ;) what I mean to say is- please don't come me for this. I don't claim to know jackshit. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **October 31** **st** **, 1984.**

14

I sit still on the medical table, mind idly running through a math equation Mike has been teaching me.

"Eleven, when was the last time you bled?" Papa asks sharply, turning away from a chart. They X-rayed me to see how my bones are. Something about density and flexibility. I don't pay much attention to their conversations. They're usually boring, and anyway, I need to leave brain space for my training. Papa says it is very important I remember everything they teach me.

I hold up two fingers. He inhales and places his hands on his hips.

"You don't think…?" The doctor trails off, his expression quizzical. "She's just a girl."

"Experiment Eleven is extremely important to this country. Check." Papa looks grim and I bite my lip.

They have me lay down on a metal table and pull my gown up to spread a cold ooze on my stomach. I count backwards from 500 as the doctor waves a strange wand over my stomach. I like how it looks curved. It makes me feel pretty. No one else except Max has curvy bits, and I always hear the boy doctors talk about how pretty she is.

I have many more curves than her, so maybe I'm pretty! Though I don't think that's really true, it makes me smile slightly. It's a fun thought to entertain in my mind home.

"Dr. Brenner." The doctor inhales and gestures Papa over, a shocked look on his face. He points to something on the screen and I tilt my head to the side ever slightly. I just want to see what they're talking about.

The screen is black, small numbers and scribblings around the side. The inside is a greyish triangle with some strange white shapes in the middle. What is that? I squint and barely keep from gasping. Is that a face? Who, or what, are they looking at?

"Looks like she's about 17 weeks along." The man stutters. Papa glances at me for a split second. Something flashes across his face. A look of pure disgust, then pain, then anger. And, perhaps, a second of sorrow. Then it is blank once more.

"Terminate it." He orders. What are they talking about? What do they want to end? I don't like how his words sound.

"Are you sure-"

"Do you want to keep your job?"

"Yes, sir." The man is quick to respond.

"Then terminate it. I want her fully operational by the 2nd."

"She's very young sir, we don't know how her body will-"

"Do it."

"Papa?" I squeak. "What is it?" He fixes me with a look.

"Be quiet Eleven."

"Papa." I try to sit up, be he shoves me down, not even looking at me. My head hits the metal and a pain shoots through my tongue along with a metallic taste. I whimper. I have not felt pain like this in months. I had been good for so long, Papa had no reason to hurt me.

But I have done something wrong. There is something wrong with me. It must be related to the tiny face on the screen. Wait. They were asking about my bleeding. Mike said some weird things about that when I first experienced it.

I dig back through my memories and let out a breath. He said that babies grew in girls. I didn't know what those were then, but now I do. There was one in one of my school books. They are tiny people made of bits of a Mama and a Papa.

Papa is speaking to some one on a phone.

"We are terminating the pregnancy." Cold rushes through my body. He must be talking about me. That… that face on the screen. It is inside me. My hand darts to my stomach, where I feel a gently fluttering, like I feel around Mike. There is a baby in me. It is mine. I am a Mama.

A sob tears from my throat.

"Papa?" I wail. He can't be wanting to take my baby away. He loves me. Why does he think this will help me? Papa leans over me and strokes my hair.

"Shhh, don't worry Eleven." His voice is soothing now, but it rips at my flesh. Over his shoulder I see the doctor collecting strange looking devices.

"Don't hurt baby." I choke out, pushing his hands away. He straightens up, face stiff.

"I don't know what you're talking about Eleven. There is no baby. It's just a blob inside you, but it will become trouble if we don't get it out." He turns to the nurses standing about the room.

"Strap her down to the operating table." He indicates me. I pull myself off the table and dash for the door. I am nearly there when a man grabs my arm roughly. I scream as I hear it pop out of its socket. I glare at him and push him aside with my mind, scrabbling for the door handle.

I yank the heavy contraption open and dash down the hallway.

"No, no, no." I pant, skittering along, feet cold and head buzzing. I can't let them get me.

I run past white room after white room. I glance Mike in one, and I think about going to him. I'm sure he would help me. But then he'd get hurt. And the men are fast approaching. I hear them behind me.

I run up a flight of stairs, feeling my strength ebbing with every step. I reach a door that won't open and pound my fists against it.

"Help! Help me!" I shriek until my voice goes. I huddle against the door, arms tight around my middle. I feel the fluttering again. Like my baby feels my sadness. She wants to help her Mama. I gasp, tears rolling down my cheeks hot and salty.

Metallic blood drips from my nose, running into my mouth and leaking from the edges.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I love you." I whisper to my baby until the men come. "Mama loves you."

They grab my arms and I wail as they drag me off.

I would have named her Olivia. And she would have loved me.

Papa told me it wouldn't hurt. He uttered that over and over again as I lay on the table, drugged and numb. He thought that was what I was worried about. I would take the pain of a thousand thank yous for one minute with my baby. I never had a choice, though.

They don't put me all the way under, either. Apparently there's too much of a risk that I wouldn't come back. That sounds wonderfully tempting to me. But no, I must survive. To help. For the country. For Papa.

I lay there as they push things inside me, shove me apart, and suction her out. I feel _everything_. And, worse, I see her. Bits, at least. She could have been pretty. Been someone I'd be proud of. I won't know.

They put me in a room alone. After a bit of arguing, they decide to keep me in my restraints. Even if they'd loosed me, I would've done what I do now. I stare at the ceiling. I wonder if Mike knows. I hope not. I don't want to know how dirty I am. How empty. How lost.

Ripped apart and set loose to the smokey skies.


	17. November 1st, 1984

**November 1** **st** **, 1984.**

14

I wake up with no recollection of falling asleep. I start to sit up, but a pain shoots through my abdomen and I fall back to the cot, memories rushing through my head. My eyes burn, but I blink harshly. There is no room for weakness here. Weakness ends in bruises, dead babies, and pain. I cannot, I will not give in to that. I must be perfect. I must stop making mistakes.

The door creaks open and I shut my eyes, flexing my hands. I'm still bound.

"Eleven?" It's Papa. My lips tremble. No. No. No.

"How are you feeling Eleven?" His voice is soft and I crack slightly. He does care. He just didn't want another baby. I'm too much of one. Always needing to be fed and watered and exercised. Stupid baby. I choke. I am useless.

"Shh, shh. It's all right. Papa's here." His hand strokes over my head, the hair that's begun to grow there.

"It hurts."

"It will be better soon. We had to do it. To help you. It's very unfortunate that this had to happen, but it was necessary. You are very important to this country. I have a story to read you Eleven. One of those nursery rhymes we used to like so much." My eyes slide open, tracing over his face as he begins to read.

Babies are made of Mama and Papa. Would Olivia have had white hair?

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again."

His words are nonsense, running together, creating stories I cannot understand. After about three more stories, Papa is done. He kisses me possessively before standing up. I just close my eyes.

"She was mine." I mumble to myself as Papa starts to leave.

"What did you say?" His voice is stern.

"She was my baby." My spark bursts out for a moment. Long enough for his eyes to darken and the men to grab me.

The bad room is just as dark as I remember. But I don't scream like I used to. I just cry quietly, huddled in a corner. I have shown him I know. And now I will be perfect. I will help the country.


	18. November 2nd, 1984

**November 2** **nd** **, 1984**

14

It feels like an eternity that I lie in the bad room. It is like the bath, but worse. It is a dark brown, a color that seems to suck me away from me. The walls are perpetually cold, icier even than my hands. They almost burn to touch, they are so cold.

But it is not quiet in here. There is a drumming, beating fast and persistent. Always there in the corner of my mind. _Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_ until I cover my ears and start counting loudly to myself. My eyes clench shut when I see a rivulet of blood streaming down my thigh, staining my torn gown.

"I will be good. I will be good. I am good. I can do good. I will be good. I will love Papa. Papa will love me. _I will be good_." I chant feverishly to myself as if this will make the words come true.

I start to feel weaker as blood continues to seep out of me. I rest my head on the floor despite the nasty goosebumps it causes on my flesh.

I thought 'goosebumps' was a funny word. I got them once when Mike touched my arm accidently. He wasn't cold though. No, he was very, very warm. Like sunshine. And smiles.

"What is… goosebumps?" I had asked, nose wrinkling in confusion. That was an odd word.

"They're these little dots you get on your skin. When, you're cold, or, um nervous or something." He chuckled.

"Why called that?"

"Because there are little geese under your skin and when you experience a strong emotion, they want to help out. Those are their little beaks poking up under your skin."

I guess I looked frightened at that, swatting at my skin, trying to keep the geese from poking out of me.

"No, no, I was joking El. There aren't actually geese in you. It's just, uh, your hair follicles pulling up. It's totally safe."

"Oh." I considered my arm for a minute, the small dots. Then I smiled a little. "You are goose." He looked surprised at that, my feeble attempt to joke.

"Uh, yeah. Now, um, lets move on to division…"

I smile faintly at the memory. Mike is so kind. But he is weak. That's what Papa would say. He can't fight or make people do things like Troy or Papa. He can't even squish cans and move things like I can.

My eyelids flutter and my stomach roils. I try to sit up, but I cannot. Smelly white ooze leaks out of the side of my mouth. I choke on it and it sprays across the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut. I may not be able to get rid of the stench, the cold, or the everpresent drumming, but I can clear my mind of the nasty brown walls.

Sleep. Sleep is a familiar friend of mine. Always there for me.


	19. November 3rd, 1984

**A/N: Hey** y'all **! It's been a hot minute. A lot was going on in my life, and writing just wasn't sustainable. Butttt now I have an actual novel to procrastinate! So here I am, back at it with the misery train. Hope** y'all **enjoy-still don't feel great using that word for this story- and** lmk **any suggestions, comments, or concerns you may have!**

* * *

November 3rd, 1984.

14

When I wake up, everything hurts. The blanket I lie on is scratchy, the machines around produce endless beeping, and the straps around my wrists and ankles rub them raw.. Not to mention the pain in my tummy. But then I see him, and I forget all that.

"Hi." I whisper.

"Hey." He says, with a limp smile. His eyes are cloudy with confusion and… something else I've never seen before. Something soft and kind.

"Hi." I say again, because- what else can I say? Can I tell him anything of what I have endured? Does he already know? Would he disgust me, be dissapointed, like Papa? Would he even care? I think that would hurt the most, him not caring. I don't know how to describe it but… I know I care for Mike.

"You said that already." He reminds me, smile a little brighter.

"Sorry." My own lips involuntarily lift at the edges in response to his beam. "I tired."

"I bet. Your uh… Doctor Brenner told me you had some kind of surgery yesterday. You feel okay?"

"Yeah." I lie. "Why you here?"

"Lessons. Our, uh, trip is coming up soon. It'll be fun, but we have to work on your sentences and everything to make sure you can do your… job. I talked to Dr. Brenner and they're gonna give you a break from your training with Troy for a bit to let you heal, but you'll be going double with me and Max. Okay?"

"Yes." Double? More time with Mike? It is the best consolation I could think of. I smile at him as he starts to read to me about something called "ay-mary-cuhn his story". Maybe I should not recover so quickly, but it is a particular talent of mine at this point. Keep everything sectioned off into little rooms in my mind home and lock the doors tight on the things that hurt.

Despite my various discomforts, I start to doze off to the lull of his voice.

"Mike." I mumble, half-asleep.

"Yeah, El?"

"Your voice… gold." I don't hear his response, instead falling into a sinkhole of clear blue skies and chocolate eyes and golden light caressing creamy skin. I wonder what that fluffy mop on top of his head would feel like between my fingers, and then I'm gone.


	20. November 5th, 1984

**November 5th, 1984.**

 **14**

Hopper is a jackass. And _yeah,_ I know what that means. I heard Mike call one of the other white coats that and he say it means someone who really bothers you and makes your life hard for no reason. For Hop, it means he keeps drilling me over and over again and won't let me slip up on anything. I get one word wrong and he makes me do the whole thing over again.

Mike isn't being easy either. It's like for every one thing he teaches me, he has ten questions about it. Prodding and poking at every possible angle to ensure it's perfect. He looks tired. He's faded like my lion. When I first got him he was this bright orange. The loudest, alive-est thing I'd ever seen here. Now he's kind of brown and his hair is coming out in spots. Mike's hair isn't falling out, thank god. I need to ask Mike what is god. Everyone always thanking him. I don't know why. But yes. I could never recover him losing his curls- well. I would still like him. He'd still be Mike. He'd still have those eyes and… but it would be sad. I do not want Mike to lose his hair.

"Concentrate, Eleven." Hopper growls, and I snap out of my reverie.

I glare at him and he raises an eyebrow. He just looks at me for a long time and eventually I feel awkward and look down at the table, cheeks flushed. Embarrassed doesn't leave room for mad. He usually wins stareoffs, but I'm lasting longer and longer. One day.

"Sorry." I say, turning my gaze back to the cards on the table.

"You've been pretty shit recently, kid. You gotta concentrate or Brenner will lose his mind."

"I'm trying." I say, running a hand through my hair.

"Try harder. Your turn."

He's right. Papa is not pleased with my inattentiveness. I try to focus, but for some reason, every time I see Mike it is harder and harder to focus. All I want to do is look at him and think about him and listen to him.

Suddenly, an impulse comes over me and I don't ignore it.

"Hop. You ever have person where… person who makes your stomach hurt and your skin hot and you just… you don't know how to be around them?"

"You mean a crush?"

"Crush?" I repeat, envisioning a can.

"Not like," he mimics what I'd been thinking of and I frown. "Like, you like someone and-jesus this is goddamn weird to explain. You think they're attractive-pretty- and you like to spend time with them. You want to be with them."

"Oh." I consider this.

"Wait. You have a crush on someone?" Hopper's face is concerned. Worried. I don't know why, but this is clearly something he thinks wrong. So I lie.

"No. Uhm. Mike does. He talk about… girl." I fib.

"Hm." Hop says. I don't know if he believes me but he doesn't ask any more questions and that's enough.


	21. November 8th, 1984

**A/N: Am I on crack? I don't think so, but somehow I am just PUMPIN out these chapters despite having disappeared for almost a year and then having lost my entire story document. Am I mad? No. Well maybe a little, because this is entirely me procrastinating my actual book I'm supposed to be writing, buttttttt. Here we are. Rewatching the show got me fueled, methinks.**

 **Hope ya'll enjoy, and remember, reviews are love!**

 **x**

 **solangewrites**

* * *

 **November 8th, 1984.**

 **14**

Max is doing 'make-up' on me today. It makes me look… not much like me. I've never looked at myself much- there are almost no mirrors here- and I can't decide if I like it. I don't recognize the girl with red lips and pink cheeks and eyes that, thanks to what Max calls 'I-shadow' and 'moose-scare-ah', seem ripe to pop out of my head. Until Mike comes in and looks like he can't breathe at the sight of me.

"Wow, El." Mike says with a smile. "You look really, really pretty."

"Thank you." I whisper. I decide I like make-up very much. Although it does make me feel kind of nervous, maybe even a little sa- now he has seen me 'pretty' won't it be such a letdown to see regular old El again?

"I mean, you always look- but. I mean. Wow." He runs a hand through his hair and my heart stutters at the sight.

"Is that good wow?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He laughs. Max groans and his cheeks turn red as a crayon. He spends a lot of time in that state.

"Yeah." He says it so quickly that the word practically melts into his next sentence. "Hey, did you get a chance to look over that pop culture handout I gave you? The one about Sixteen Candles?"

"Yes. Sam stupid." I inform him. Mike frowns, but in a good way. The way that means we are going to have a _discussion_.

"Why do you think that?" He asks, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Max rolls her eyes but either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care. Probably both. Max and Mike don't particularly get along. They don't fight or yell or anything, but there's an uneasy current between them.

"If she like Jake why she not just tell him?"

"Well, he was dating-"

"What's sex?" I blurt out.

"Uhm." Mike's face is pink again. I wonder if my face ever looks like that around him. Max makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

"It's when two people who like each other use their bodies for pleasure. Together." Max explains casually.

Mike sighs as if the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders.

"Pleasure?"

Mike groans. "El, it's like. So they kiss? It's like that but more extreme."

"Kiss?" I didn't see the movie. Not allowed. Mike just has them written up like stories, and that way I'm practicing my reading too. But it seems kind of silly sometimes. I don't know a lot of the words and me and Mike just end up talking about it.

"Like this," Mike presses his lips against his hand in a curious way. It's brief and… just his hand, but for some reason it makes my stomach hurt to see it. "But with um, someone else's lips. Against yours."

"Why do people do it?" I ask. It certainly makes me feel something, to think about someone's-Mike's- lips on my own.

Max seems to take some pity on him and spins me around to face her finally. She examines her handiwork and smiles ever so slightly.

"Done. I'll go get Doctor Brenner."

Max leaves and it's just me and Mike.

"Mike." I say, hardly knowing why. He doesn't question my lack of question.

"El." He replies. We smile at each other from across the room. For a couple minutes it is peaceful. Then Papa is here. I have begun to realize that Papa is Mike's opposite. In the way he makes me feel. That is wrong of me, I know, to feel the way I do about my Papa. But I can't seem to help it. All my affection goes to Mike without a thought. I think of him and I feel warm. I see him and I feel safe. Papa is cold as can be.

I don't know if it's related to my powers or anything, but I feel when he comes in. The tension in the room shifts, ever so slightly. I straighten my spine and drop the smile from my face and hold very, very still.

He comes very close. I can't see Mike anymore. Only Papa in my range of vision.

"Perfect." Papa breathes. He comes up and strokes my cheek, turning my face from side to side to examine every bit.

"Stand up." He commands me. I do. Now I see Mike. Not thanks to my height- I've grown upwards, but just barely. They don't seem particularly concerned with height, in any case. But my measurements are taken very carefully. They want me wider and thinner in certain parts and every so often my food, my training shifts and I know it is to make me just perfect in their eyes. There was some talk of surgery on my stomach. There is some scarring there. I don't remember what from. I don't think I will let myself remember. They decided against it, though. Too much risk.

Where was I? Mike. That's not a surprise. It's always Mike. He's as tall as Papa now. It's a funny thing to see. The two of them tower above everyone else in the lab. Looking at either of them hurts.

"Excellent." He kisses the top of my forehead and I stiffen instinctually. "Continue with your lessons. I will see you this evening, Wheeler."

"Yes, sir." Mike replies in a flat voice.

Papa leaves and Mike and I both stare at the ground. On an impulse, I stand up and walk over to him.

"Hi." I say. His eyes crinkle up as he looks down at me.

"Hey."

"Wanna do it on my cot?" I ask. I figure it'll be more comfortable to sit there rather than the table. Mike flushes crimson.

"What?" His voice is high pitched and I frown.

"Lessons?"

"Oh." Mike says, looking both disappointed and relieved.

"What'd you think I meant?" I ask, curious. He shrugs and I leave it at that.


	22. November 9th, 1984

**November 9th, 1984.**

 **14**

I can't find the man they want. Not even after like, a bajillion tries. I try and try but to no use.

Papa is not pleased.


	23. November 10th, 1984

**November 10th, 1984.**

 **14**

I have a lot of medical appointments after… it. Mike is more involved in them. I think he is doing good with his job. Moving up. He seems pleased to have more work to do. I do not understand that. I'd rather sleep and color and talk and take walks than do work. Today, Papa is letting him do his first alone one. Before there has always been another Doctor in front. Right now though, it is just Mike. Me. And Mike.

I cross and uncross my legs. The edge of the examination table digs into the backs of my legs and they burn. Mike is rifling through a big pile of charts and papers.

"Alright uh." He taps his pen against his clipboard. "I gotta grab something, how about you strip down?"

"Okay." I agree. I quickly shuck off my dress and socks. When he comes back in, I'm shivering in just my tank top and shorts. He walks toward me, tiny hammer in hand-and then freezes about a foot away.

"El." He whispers, eyes wide. "Where'd you get all these?"

I look down at myself and frown. I'd almost forgotten. I'm practically all purple with bruises. I hadn't particularly noticed them. I tried not to think about them. Sometimes Papa gets mad, and that's just that. I guess he hasn't seen before. I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious. Guilty.

"I'm sorry."

"El." Mike crouches down and gently lifts my chin with his finger. I meet his eyes and they aren't mad. Just sad.

"El, this isn't your fault. I just… who's hurting you?"

"Papa." I hardly dare whisper it above a breath.

Mike inhales sharply and casts another glance over the mottled colors.

"Okay. Okay." He walks off from me and yanks on his hair. He's mad, I can tell.

"Mike? Are you okay?"

"Am I _okay_?" He says incredulously. "You're the one who looks like… like _that_."

"Ugly?" I whisper. It stings to have Mike think of me as anything less than- well. I shouldn't be surprised. Maybe I'm not, but I am hurt. I reach for my dress, to pull it back over my head, needing to flee. Mike puts out a hand to stop me.

"No, El. You aren't ugly. You're beautiful. But…. I hate seeing that someone hurt you. I wish you'd never be hurt ever again." There's a fierceness in his voice that strikes me low in stomach.

Something hot and intense comes over me. The air seems to crackle with electricity. Without thinking, I lean over and kiss him full on the lips. He is soft and warm and tastes like something sharp and fresh. He looks at me with… awe in his eyes. I smile shyly and lean back in- and he stops me.

"Eleven-no. No. Uh uh."

And then he runs away. His jacket gets caught on the door and he just yanks it, not minding the tear that forms. I catch his eyes and they are full of something that makes the bile rise in my throat. Fear. Mike is scared of me.

I don't know what to do now, so I just sit in silence until someone comes for me.


	24. November 11th, 1984

**November 11th, 1984.**

 **14**

Hop teaches me Mike's stuff now. He is brusque and efficient and I am numb. I prepare for the mission and do everything exactly right, everything just like Papa wants. I put my hurt into training. I start beating Troy sometimes.

I don't really care.


	25. January 2nd, 1985

**January 2** **nd** **, 1985.**

14

The bad men have a very cold country. It is worse than the lab. I got to be warm for a few minutes, when we walked through an 'airport'. That was very odd. Papa rushed us. I've never seen him so anxious, so rough around the edges. Apparently, I need to stay a secret, only known as the 'ambassador's daughter'. I don't know anything more. Everything is hush hush and shhh and don't tell.

So I am wrapped in a large pink coat, shoved through lines and gates so quickly my head nearly spins. A few people with cameras try to take our pictures, but Papa waves a hand at them and his black suit men cut them off.

We spent a long time in a strange metal tube. It made weird hissing and bumping noises. I was scared, but I could not be so. So I closed my eyes and made a story. One about a princess and a prince. Only, the princess has short brown hair, not luscious golden locks, and she saves the prince from the evil snake, not the other way around.

I get to the princess and the prince fighting the snake and I am stuck. How do they defeat it? It is so much bigger and stronger, and they don't even know themselves.

Papa cuts me off before I can decide. We climb out of the tube and I am chilled. The wind whips white powder in my face and I cough.

"Get her a hat, gloves, and scarf. We don't want our asset to become ill." Papa orders. I encase myself in the items, glad for their comfort. They give me a small blue pill that I obediently swallow.

"Aren't you excited for our vacation?" A man says. I think he is my papa now. I blink a little. I feel weird.

"Yes Papa. It will be really fun! I'm kinda cold though." I say, not recognizing the words coming out of my mouth. My giggle is so light and airy and unreal it takes me a moment to even know it's mine.

Then I stop thinking.


	26. January 12th, 1985

**January 12** **th** **, 1985.**

14

By the time I wake up, I am back in my cot. I nearly cry. How could I have been so careless? Now I've missed my last glance of what is outside. I curl up under my blanket, hoping Papa will take a long time coming.


	27. February 13th, 1985

**February 13** **th** **, 1985.**

14

The doctor runs the metal stick over my limbs as I stand perfectly still. I don't know what they're scanning for, but I must not move. It's excruciating because across the room, there's Mike. He's even taller and prettier than I remember. He hasn't looked at me. My heart hurts to see him across the room, so close but really so far. Somehow I absolutely know I cannot say anything to him. Instead I just watch him, writing something on a clipboard as a scientist watches over his shoulder.

Suddenly, the scientist starts waving his hands around in an unhappy manner. My brow twitches as Mike starts to gesture. They seem to be arguing over something that Mike has written. Then, the man hits Mike full across the face. A blinding white rage fills my head and I hear a horrifying wet snap before I fall to the ground.

Warm blood runs from my nose and my head pounds, feeling dead and useless. I try to shove myself up, looking for Mike. Is he okay? Did I hurt him? I glimpse him out of the corner of my eye.

He sits, frozen. There's a body at his feet, accompanied by a small pool of blood.

"Mike." I groan, throat sore and dry. Hands carefully lift and set me on the examining table.

"Excellent." Papa breathes. "Wheeler?"

Mike snaps out of his reverie and stumbles over to Papa.

"Yes, yes sir."

"You're promoted. Take Johnson's position."

Mike looks like he's going to vomit. But before he can, I do.


	28. February 20th, 1985

**February 20** **th** **, 1985.**

14

Papa has been giving me strange, small tablets this past week. They taste bitter, but he doesn't leave until I take them all. They give me odd dreams. Ones where I float, or fly, or do unspeakable things.

Tonight, I am in a clean, pink room. I look at myself in a white mirror. I am pretty, I realize. My blonde hair and curves look nice in this dream. But I am clothed in only a smooth white, thin-strapped dress that does nothing to cover my peaked nipples or the outline of my stomach.

I sit on the floor, trying to relax. This is a nice room, this is a nice dream.

The door opens and I look up. Mike walks in the room and I scramble to my feet, facing him. I suck in a breath. He is not dressed. I shut my eyes tight. Looking at him does funny things to my stomach.

"Elle." He whispers into my ear, sending goosebumps down my back.

"Mike." I reply, feeling warmth spreading through my body in the coldest way.

"Let me touch you." He says. I lean back, eyes still shut. I feel the dress pull off my body and a strange wetness growing between my legs.

His hands trace down my breasts, leaving fire in their wake. I start to squirm, searching for traction.

"Shhh." He hushes me. A mouth fastens around my nipple and I jerk, a tight coil wrapping itself up in my abdomen.

"Mike." I whine. I need more.

His hand starts to drift between my legs and I let out an unnatural keen when he touches the right spot. There, there, there. I need him there.

His hand begins to move and I let out a moan. This horrid aching is somehow the best I've ever felt.

Then I wake up. Papa is standing outside of my room, a curious look on his face. I bury my face in the cot, ashamed and disgusted. That felt wrong-but my skin is burning and the gap between my legs feels unnaturally empty and sore. I cannot get back to sleep.


	29. March 18th, 1985

**March 18** **th** **, 1985.**

14

All of a sudden, Mike is back. There is no mention of his extended absence. He's just… back. With a thick Russian book for me to learn from. My head hurts just to look at the characters. I thought that mission was a one and done, but apparently Papa has new, bigger plans for me now.

"You have to trust me." Mike instructs. We are supposed to be working on my Russian verbs, but he has something else on his mind.

"Yes?" I respond, trying not to look at him. That dream has made me feel uncomfortable in his presence. I try not to think of his hands, _touching_ me. His mouth, burning my flesh, his- no, no no. Stop. I shake my head to dislodge those thoughts.

"El?" He grabs my hand. I stiffen.

"What?" I reply.

"I'm gonna get you out of here. But you have to trust me."

My eyes widen and my hand rips out of his.

"How?" I whisper harshly. He flinches, not expecting my aggression. I bit my lip and try to settle down. I must not do anything to make Papa come in here. He can see us on the cameras, even if he can't hear us. I'm uneasy. What if he asks what we were talking about? I don't want to go back to the bad room.

"I have a friend who's really good with uh, magic tricks and stuff. He knows how to make people disappear. And… I've talked with Max."

Something green and petulant bristles up and down my spine. Why is he talking to Max? She's pretty, I know. Prettier than even dream me. But I have to get out of here. If Max is part of that, I will deal with it.

"What do I do?" I manage to say.

"Stay asleep. We're gonna do it in exactly one month. I'll tell you exactly when. Max will give you a pill the day of. All you have to do is eat it. Don't chew. Just swallow. It will put you to sleep. That way, if we get caught, we can take the blame."

My brow furrows. He's offering to die for me, essentially.

"That's all you need to know." He frowns, running a hand through his hair. I don't say anything. I can't. I am overwhelmed by the concept of _leaving_. Of getting out of this place. Of going. What lies outside these walls?

"Well, I guess… that's it for the, uh, lesson. I'll, uh, see you tomorrow El." Mike offers me a lopsided smile and stands.

"Thank you Mike." I blurt out. His eyes widen slightly and his smile seems a little smoother.

"You don't need to thank me El. You deserve me. We're just doing what's right."

"Right?" I haven't heard that word used this way. Isn't right just the hand that I write with?

"Uh… It means good. Good and what you should do."

"Oh. You are right, Mike."

"Uh, thanks. Uh, s-see you tomorrow." Mike's face is pink as he stumbles out of the room. I touch my own cheek, smiling softly. I made Mike feel warm. Soon I will be too.


	30. April 18th, 1985

**April 18** **th** **, 1985**.

14

I am impatient. Max looks like the perfect picture of composure and calm as she reels off Russian words fast as can be. Not only are her words in that other language, but she is asking me hard questions. Like which fork to use, what to say if someone asks my opinions on the oppressive Russian Regime, or whether or not to decline champagne or-

"Ty gotov k tabletu?" She asks, same look on nonchalance on her face. My spine prickles.

"Da spasibo." I nod. She stretches, arms extending out in front of her. Something small drops into my lap and I fold my hands over it, feeling its smooth, cold surface. Max cracks her neck and settles back into her seat.

I ponder my next words very carefully. "Chto konkretno delayet tabletka?"

"Ch'yu, ne glotay. Vy uvoleny." Max smiles tightly as I stand up.

"Thank you." I whisper. I really, really mean it.

A nurse escorts me back to my cell and I sit on the bed. I don't feel like coloring, but I pull my papers on to my lap, sliding the tablet underneath. I flick through the pages. I smile at one. I was drawing Max with my red crayon, paying special attention to her long, long eyelashes, and bright red lips. Mike had leaned over my shoulder and grinned.

"It's Max, isn't it?" I nodded yes and he frowned.

"The other one was prettier."

"Which one?" I asked shyly. He flipped through the pages, landing on one I'd done of myself.

"This one."

I blush even at the memory. There's no way Mike can feel the same way about me as I do him, but he is very, very nice to me. The door slams open and I flinch. Ah. Dinner.

I accept the soggy bread and thin soup and begin to eat. Halfway through I adjust my shorts, pulling out the tablet. I hide it in a morsel of bread and chew it thoroughly. It is bitter, but I manage to get it down. I quickly finish dinner.

I am ushered into the tiny metal square and hosed down, then change into a somewhat fresher pair of underwear and a thin white tank top. I would put on shorts as well, but I fear that would raise too much suspicion. My brain has taken up a pleasant hum.

I begin to drift away. By the time the gunshots are fired, I have flown away on the wings of sleep.


	31. April 19th, 1985

**April 19** **th** **, 1985.**

14

"Shit shit shit this was a bad plan… She should be awake by now." A deep voice I don't recognize keeps mumbling.

"Calm down." Mike says. "You're not fucking _helping_."

I moan slightly and shift. My head is resting on something warm and soft. Definitely not my cot. My eyes flicker open and latch onto a dark pair staring back at me from above. Mike. I cannot help the rush of joy that floods my body. Mike is alive. _I_ am alive. And free. I beam up at him and he replies with a tentative smile.

"Hi." I whisper.

"Hi." He responds. I just look at him for a while, still foggy with sleep but very comfortable.

"Gonna introduce me?" The other voice teases. Mike flushes and snaps his head up quickly.

"Uh, yeah." He grasps my ribcage and lifts me up to sit beside him. I wince at the headache lingering in my skull.

"Oh yeah, you might have a bit of headache. I've never given them to humans before. Just you know, my rat." The voice belongs to a very tall, very wide guy with a big smile and a mass of riotous curls. Wow. I've never seen so much hair on a boy.

"I'm Dustin, by the way." He offers. "I went to school with Mike. Until he dropped out to, you know, go to fucking college like the smartass he is."

"Hi." I whisper, waving slightly with my hand. His rush of words is a bit much for my tired brain to handle, but I don't want to be rude to a friend of Mike's.

"Her name is Elle." Mike informs Dustin. Dustin rolls his eyes and cracks his knuckles.

"Yeah I figured, dumbass. Not like you're always going 'Elle this' and 'Elle that'. Man, for a guy who works-"

"Worked." Mike corrects.

"-worked at a top secret government facility, you really are a blabbermouth."

"I am not a-" Mike starts to scowl and raise his voice and I flinch slightly. I don't like yelling. It's better than the cold, hard voice Papa used, but not by much. Mike catches my gesture out of the corner of his eye and stops. His hand comes back down he stretches it towards me.

"Are you hungry, Elle?" He asks me. I nod slightly.

"Dustin, you got any food in this dump?" He asks. I look around at the 'dump'. It doesn't seem too bad to me. A dark, warm room with a clunky grey console in the center, surrounded by an odd assortment of lumpy bed-like things. I'm sitting on one right now. A… couch, I think. It's soft and squishy and deep and I could sleep forever on it. There are no windows, but a few doors lead out, all but one ajar.

"You bet your ass. You don't get man tits like this from starving yourself. You could stand to learn a thing or two from my example, skinny. Come on." Dustin walks out of the warm, dark room and Mike stands to follow him. He glances down at me, and for the first time seems to realize my state of undress.

"Uh, here." He hands me a large blanket emblazoned with a moose, and I drape it over my body gratefully.

"Thank you." I smile up at him. And I really mean it.


	32. April 25th, 1985

**April 25th, 1985.**

14

I sleep a lot over the next few days. Then Mike explains the 'situation.'

Mike says we have to be careful, because Papa and his men are looking for us. They've said Mike has stolen me. That I need to be returned to my 'family'. Mike says that's bullshit. I agree. We have been staying with Dustin for too long. His apartment is dark and somewhat secluded- "no one wants to live in this shit hole, especially given the location. Man, who would've thought I would end up in Bumfuck Alabama!" was how he put it- but we need to move on.

"You guys can't just go out with her looking like that, though." Dustin comments, gesturing to my head. I cover it embarrassedly. I am no longer shaved bare, but the matted ear length mass resting on my skull isn't much better. And Dustin's clothes are comfortable, but not exactly 'cool'.

"What? She looks fine." Mike insists indignantly. "Don't be an asshole."

"I'm not being mean," Dustin rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "I'm just being honest. She looks like a street rat. You need to talk to Nancy."

"No, I can handle her. I'll get some, uh, clothes, and scissors, and uhhhhh. Do you need, uh, sanitary products?" I nod slowly and he flushes even further.

"No, Mike. It'll look weird as hell if you go out and buy that shit. This is a small town. Word will get around fast. Just. Call. Her."

"Who's Nancy?" I venture.

"She's Mike's sister. He doesn't like to talk to her because she's in a polyamorous relationship and is a badass drug dealer."

"Dustin!" Mike protests.

"What's a drug dealer?" I ask, utterly confused.

"Fine! I'll call her." Mike's face is bright red as he rushes over to Dustin's phone.

"Pol-ee-am-or-us? What's that?" I question again. I can decide if these words make 'Nancy' a 'good guy' or 'bad guy'. I do know what those are. Dustin watches a lot of television and he likes to yell and curse at the set while he does. Especially when the 'bad guys' come on screen.

"Mmm, I let Mike explain that one."

Mike spends a very long time on the phone with Nancy. Dustin and I sit on the couch and watch a movie called "The Breakfast Club". I don't understand most of it, but I hate when Bender shows the other guy his burns. So I am not the only person with a bad Papa.

I recoil under my blanket, hiding my face as bad memories flood through my mind.

"Turn it off." Mike commands Dustin roughly.

"Geez, okay." He clicks the remote and the sofa depresses as Mike sits besides me.

"Hey, Elle." He says softly. "I talked to Nancy. She'll be here in a day or two. She's only in Memphis, but she has, some, um, business to attend to."

"Great." Dustin remarks. "Just hope she doesn't bring Fucking Steve with her."


End file.
